


Alone and Awake

by BlazingStarInInkyBlackness



Series: We're going to rule the world (eventually) [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness/pseuds/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is sure of a few things about his past. Standing up to his father was not a good move. Leaving his home was not a good move. Managing to get ill was not a good move. Stealing from Geoff Ramsey? He’d have to decide later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone and Awake

Michael watched as men and women walked past, ignoring the man hunched in an alley. None of them stopped, none of them even paused. It was as if Michael himself was invisible. He huddled into himself, trying to ignore the rain beating a pattern onto the back of his head. Maybe he was invisible.

Michael Jones was down on his luck and that was putting it lightly. His wallet was empty as was his stomach. His coat was more of a net than anything, the holes gaping as the rain poured down. He cursed loudly, he was in fucking Achievement City, wasn’t it meant to be sunny?

But the rain didn’t seem to listen to the young man, if anything, it increased in volume out of spite. Michael sighed and hunkered down, there wasn’t anything much he could do.

He dreamed of warmth sometimes. Those were the worst dreams. He’d awake cold and hungry, mind calling out for the softness of his old bed. He could imagine it sometimes, the memories mixing with nostalgia until he couldn’t remember if the bed had been lumpy or soft as a cloud. Anything had to be better than a dumpster though.

 

Michael woke the next morning suddenly, ripped from his dreams with a sharp cough. He doubled over, coughing and coughing until he thought that his lungs would fall out. He then slumped against the wall and groaned, he was ill.

After a few minutes he dragged himself to his feet, swaying slightly, He needed to get food but that was hard enough when he was feeling fine. A job would be easiest but he didn’t have enough experience to get a decent job. So he’d turned to petty theft, small stuff.

He didn’t dare use his old identity, he still had a warrant out for his arrest after what had happened with his father.

But Michael didn’t regret what he’d done. He’d never regret it.

He pushed himself into the bustling streets, trying to not look out of place. Michael knew that he stank of mildew and trash that was, after all, what you get for sleeping on a dumpster. But he had to pretend to be normal, for just a little bit longer. Maybe if he could get a decent amount of money together he could actually afford a house.

Michael smiled at the thought, a bed, a shower and a roof over his head. At that moment, with his throat feeling choked up and his breath rasping it sounded like heaven.

He shook his head roughly, there was no point dwelling on that now. First he had to get food and water, maybe a new coat. Then he could think about luxuries like showers.

Pulling himself back to the bustling world around him he weaved amongst the crowd, ducking his hand into a pocket or a bag occasionally. The people rushing past were too wary so Michael could rarely find much but every penny brought him a bit closer to that day’s meal. Suddenly he started to cough, bending over by the force of it.

The cough subsided after tears had sprung in his eyes and he was out of breath. Michael stumbled out of the crowd, most of them were eyeing him suspiciously anyway, and lurched into an alley. He crumpled to the floor as another bout of coughing took over his body. He groaned, this didn’t feel like a normal illness, just a mere cough, this felt bad.

The feeling of dread filled him but it could not stop the wave of exhaustion that crashed over him. His eyelids slowly drooped and his head tilted backwards to rest against the wall. Despite having only been awake for a few hours he was drained.

 

“All I’m saying is that if we got a chopper we could get everything done so much more easily!”

Jack sighed as she watched her boss throw out his new theory.

“Geoff, we barely have enough money to keep your ridiculous penthouse. How the fuck would we fund a chopper?”

Geoff shrugged and weaved around a young man who had brushed up against him, nearly crashing into the gang boss. Jack frowned and half turned, staring at the man. He had a beanie pulled low on his head and as Jack watched he opened his hand, revealing a few loose notes.

Jack turned and ran towards the man, anger filling her. Geoff looked confused for a moment before noticing who Jack was chasing and put two and two together. He’d spent enough time around professional pickpockets to know how much of a target he’d just been.

The pick-pocket had noticed Jack approaching and he ran, faster than Jack could keep up. The younger man darted down an alley and clambered over the wall at the end. Jack sighed, getting over the wall would be too difficult and the man obviously knew where he was going.

“How much money did he take?” she asked an out of breath Geoff. He pulled out the notes remaining in his pocket and counted them.

“I dunno, maybe ten dollars?”

Jack sighed and nodded, wasn’t worth pursuing.

“You need to be more careful.”

Geoff groaned and fell in step with her again, nodding sarcastically.

“I know, I know.”

Jack rolled her eyes and kept walking. Geoff soon started chattering about the idea of getting some kind of crew mascot, like a puma or something. Jack wasn’t sure, she’d started tuning him out quite early on.

 

Michael stood in the alley behind the wall he’d fallen from. His ankle hurt so badly from where he’d landed. He didn’t think it was broken but something was definitely wrong with it. He sucked in a deep breath and pulled himself to his feet, wincing as he put weight onto the ankle. Michael then scolded himself; he’d worked through more pain than this.

With that thought in mind he began to hobble away, clenching the notes in his hand. The seventeen dollars he’d managed to get would last for a long time if he managed to use it sparingly.

That had been his first mistake when he got onto the streets; he hadn’t used his money sparingly. The money had been taken from his father’s house after Michael had run. Half of it had gone in the first week, that kind of money would last Michael months now. But that was in the past, as was his father.

As Michael hobbled along, stuck on that train of thought, he couldn’t help but think about his father. There had been a reason he had learnt how to cope with pain, hide it from prying eyes. Maybe he should be thanking his father in the end.

Another footstep, making him wince, drove that thought out of his mind. He wasn’t happy about his father, the bastard deserved to die and Michael had given it to him.

Michael had been staying in his father’s house, desperate to scrape together enough money to get out. His mother had packed up and left when he was just a kid but had left Michael. She’d never really liked him much anyway.

When she left his father’s rage was directed only at him. This soon became apparent as his body began to ache, bruises became an all too common occurrence.

It wasn’t constant, nowhere near. But occasionally, when his father was drunk, he’d lash out. And when he lashed out there was no way to stop him. As Michael grew it happened more and more often before Michael snapped and lashed out.

Michael remembered the pain he’d been in and despite everything, despite the cough that sounded like he was dying, the pain in his foot, the ache in his stomach, despite all that, he was still glad that he was no longer under his father’s roof.

He stumbled into a small shop, the owner eyeing him suspiciously. Michael grabbed a bottle of water and walked to the counter. The man glared at him, wondering if he’d taken anything. Michael rolled his eyes, slamming the money down on the counter.

As Michael walked out he took the bottle and shoved it into his bag, pulling out the small bar of chocolate he’d managed to nab while the owner was looking away. Really, if he’d actually trusted Michael he wouldn’t have felt the need to steal from that store in particular.

He walked down the street munching the bar slowly. It didn’t do much to actually fill his stomach and overall it just made him feel a bit sick but he kept on eating it stubbornly. He could survive this, he could. He’d survived this long.

 

Two days later Michael woke up coughing violently. He could see black spots dancing in front of his eyes and when he stopped he could barely move. He leant back against the wall and tried to just focus on breathing. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. But he had no idea how to handle it.

After a few minutes he stood again, this time making it to his feet. He couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands but he put it down to the hunger in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten anything since the chocolate bar and it was showing. He was sweating from the small exertion and he had no idea how he was meant to get through the day and get enough food.

But Michael pulled himself from the alley, forcing himself to put one foot in front of another.

Michael stumbled into the crowd, feeling himself being pushed along by the wave of people. He barely noticed, completely out of breath. After only five or so metres he needed to stop and bend over, drawing in deep gulps of air.

This started another round of coughing. The people around him glared at him, parting like the red sea. When the coughing fit was over he stood, ignoring the dizziness and tried to find a target. His glasses were muddied and dirty but he managed to focus on a woman.

She had curly red hair, cut in a high bob. She was wearing a fairly horrendous Hawaii shirt and was carrying a handbag. If he managed to snatch the bag there might be enough to get into one of the cheaper clinics. The man beside her was dressed in a suit, with both hands shoved into his pockets. Michael discounted him as a target, he looked too alert to be a viable victim in Michael’s condition.

Keeping all of this in mind he started walking towards them. The woman glanced backwards, surveying the street and he froze, wondering if she had noticed him. But if she did she gave no indication, muttering something to her friend which caused him to laugh loudly. Michael took the opportunity and leapt forwards, grabbing the bag.

Before he could back to safety a hand shot out and gripped his wrist, tightening like a vice and dragging him away.

 

Jack could see the same man who had stolen from Geoff in the crowd. He wasn’t exactly being subtle. He was wearing the same clothes, though much more rumpled. He also seemed to stop every few seconds and cough into his hand. Jack winced at the cough, it sounded dry and rasping.

So when the man tried to grab her bag Geoff grabbed his hand and pulled him into an alley. The crowd barely noticed the violence, all too used to it. The mass of people covered their exit, seamlessly moving past where they had just been.

The man was fighting Geoff violently but then he suddenly started coughing, doubling over by the force of the cough. Geoff let go of the hand, surprised at how hot it had been. It wasn’t exactly the height of summer but the guy felt like he was on fire.

“Let me go!” Michael rasped out, trying to move between the two older men, back into the safety of the street.

“You were trying to steal my bag!” Jack said indignantly, secretly surprised at the man. She knew that she seemed to be one of the weakest targets in the crowd and somehow he’d picked up on that. Unfortunately he hadn’t vouched on the gun on her hip.

“If you don’t I’ll call the police!” the strange man said wildly, eyes wide and frantic as he tried to find out how to get away.

“And tell them what?”

Michael paused, breathing heavily. He felt terrible, as if nothing was quite where it should be. Everything that came into his head was a second too late.

“That-” he paused, breathing heavily. Jack and Geoff exchanged a look. In all honesty there was nothing wrong with the money Geoff had lost and the handbag was empty, a decoy for pickpockets. But Michael looked dreadful, as if might keel over at any second.

“Calm down kid, we’re not gonna arrest you.” Geoff said calmingly. Jack glanced over, they weren’t?

“Then why-” Michael rasped before stopping again, unable to finish the sentence.

“You look like a decent pick pocket. We could use your skills.” It was true, they needed information and money. But a pick pocket wouldn’t bring them in much of either unless they were a part of the crew. Geoff seemed to reach this conclusion just as Jack finished speaking.

“We’re starting up a crew and we need someone with your skills.” Michael glared up at them, untrusting.

“Why me?” Michael asked hoarsely. Geoff shrugged.

“I didn’t notice when you stole that money a few days back.”

Michael gaped at him for a moment, his foggy brain connecting the people he saw in front of him.

“That was you?” Geoff laughed

“Yeah, if Jack hadn’t seen you I wouldn’t have known anything about it. So what do you say?”

Michael stared up at them, trying to weigh up what he should do. If he stayed on the streets he wouldn’t last much longer. The tightness in his chest and the pain in his joints were proof of that.

But throwing his lot in with a new crew was different. A crew would mean danger. But it would also mean protection, shelter and food. In the end that was what made his decision, the thought of having food in his belly and a bed to sleep on.

“Yes, I- I’ll join.”

“Good, now let’s get you to a doctor.”

 

The next day Michael awoke in a bed.

He didn’t wake quickly, jumping into consciousness. Instead he slowly drifted awake. He was warm and his stomach was full. He rose to his feet shakily, the chest infection hadn’t cleared up overnight but there was a box of pills on the side he could take. He was no longer forced to just wait out the attack on his body.

His ankle was bound up so he couldn’t fuck it up anymore. Jack had treated him the previous night, trying to work out just how badly Michael had fucked up his body. Michael frowned as he remembered Geoff’s face when his shirt had come off.

Michael was underfed, that was obvious from his face. But from his body Geoff had seen just how bad it was. His ribs were so prominent that Geoff was half surprised the skin was still complete, hadn’t been ripped from underneath. But not all the skin was complete, there was deep scars decorating his back, in long strokes reminiscent of a whipping. But these strokes were thicker, as if caused by a belt rather than any kind of professional weapon.

Geoff knew that sign, could imagine what it entailed. A happy family life was uncommon in their line of work, just look at Jack. But he was still pissed off. Shooting people, stabbing people, even killing people was one thing. Hurting your kid was another.

The older man had frowned as Michael was checked over by Jack. Jack was much better at hiding her surprise but felt very similar. She almost wanted to get the man an x-ray to check just which of his bones had been set after being broken, just how often he’d been given medical help. It looked like any medical attention he’d had was few and far between. He had a few scars on his front, cuts and scrapes and what looked like a knife wound. Normal calibre for living on the street in a city like theirs.

Michael had glared at them when they stared, grabbing his shirt at the first opportunity offered.

“So how does this work? You get me patched up until you need me again?”

“No, you come back to the apartment. If there’s a job you’ll be called in. As time goes on you’ll get more responsibility.”

“Wait, what happens in the apartment?” Michael was instantly on edge, not that he hadn’t already been. He stood on his wrapped foot solidly, ready to drop into a fighting stance.

“You rest, I cook and Jack eats.” Geoff said, languidly. Jack frowned at Geoff, missing the emotions that flitted across Michael’s face.

“I get a bed?” his voice was full of hope. Jack looked shocked but Geoff just nodded.

“Of course you get a fucking bed.” Michael tried to glare at Geoff’s tone but his face was split wide with a smile.

 

“Michael?” Geoff’s voice jolted Michael out of the memories from the night before. Without waiting the older man stepped into the bedroom. “Get back into bed! Jack says you’re not meant to walk around until your damn chest infection has cleared.” Michael grumbled and hopped back into the bed, not ready to argue with the man who owned the apartment he was staying in.

Geoff walked over and pulled a pistol. Michael tensed, realising just how defenceless he was. But then Geoff flipped the gun around, offering the handle to Michael.

“If you’re gonna be in the crew you need a gun.” Michael nodded, grasping the gun. But he didn’t pull it away, instead watching as the muzzle pointed directly at Geoff’s chest. If he pulled the trigger the older man would be dead, no chance he’d survive it at point blank range. Michael could loot the rest of the flat, taking enough money to get a house, get time to find a job. He’d never have to live on the streets again. He’d be safe.

Michael had nearly made the decision when he glanced up at Geoff. The man watched him with a smile on his face, the same he’d been wearing when he walked in. Michael grasped the gun and pulled it towards himself, placing it carefully on the side cabinet.

Geoff smiled widely and Michael suddenly felt as if it had been a test, to figure out if he was trustworthy or not. He’d obviously passed.

“Jack and I are heading to the shops, you stay here. There’s a TV in the other room and a few X-box’s if you wanna play something.” With that Geoff left the bedroom, leaving a stunned Michael behind him.

He pulled the gun from the table and opened the cartridge. There, lined up in perfect rows, were bullets. Geoff had handed him a loaded gun and had trusted Michael enough not to pull the trigger. Michael felt a pool of warmth grow in the bottom of his stomach and smiled. The guy was crazy but he’d let Michael sleep in a bed, he’d given him food and medicine. If everyone in the crew turned out to be as crazy as Geoff Michael was sure he would enjoy it here.

The Jersey boy sighed and leant back, staring up at the ceiling. A deep contentment enveloped him as he fell back to sleep; he was safe.

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> See you next time!


End file.
